I can’t remember if I was nine or ten years old. I do remember that it was the last day of 4-H camp. I was looking in the mirror and checking my face for bruises. The day before for some silly reason I had gotten into a fist fight with another boy. It didn’t take long for the bigger boys to pull us apart and call it a draw, but in truth I had lost. My head was still sore from a couple of the blows the other boy had landed. We hadn’t talked since the fight either but only stared coldly at each other from across the room of our cabin.

Still, I was in a good mood this morning because I knew my Mom was bringing some of her homemade pizzas as a treat for my brother, me, and our friends. Soon I saw her walking up the sidewalk towards the steps of our cabin. She had been bringing these pizzas to us every 4-H camp for years now. I saw her smile as my brother and his friends all grabbed the big cut pieces. She made sure, though, to save the last two pieces for me. I thanked her with a smile of my own and started to eat when I saw my fist fight opponent standing off to the side by himself. In that moment something moved in my heart. I walked over to him and gave him one of the pieces. We talked and laughed and ate. And for some reason unknown to me at the time, the pizza tasted better than ever before.

I can see now that what moved my heart was the finger of God. Our Heavenly Father was watching down on me that day and working a little miracle inside of me. He was moving me to forgive, to give, and to love. And I am so happy that I followed His guidance.

Henry Drummond wrote: “You will find, as you look back upon your life, that the moments when you have really lived are the moments you have done things in the spirit of love.”

May you really live then. May you forgive, give, and love. And may your pizza always taste delicious.